Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Last week while I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, I opened the cupboard under the sink and selected a few potatoes to make French fries. As I scrubbed them under the tap, I noticed that one was misshapen. That didn't matter because I never peel potatoes when making fries. I slice them with the skins on because it's more nutritious and it saves me the extra work.

Then I took a closer look at the oddly-shaped spud.

Doesn't that look like a well-rounded bottom to you? That's what I thought, so I set it aside to snap a few photos. Here's a closer shot. You can see what looks like a belt mark on the upper right cheek.

Here's the other side of the same potato. It still looks like a bum, with a cute little dimple on each cheek.

There were plenty of other potatoes that didn't have such endearing physical characteristics, so we still enjoyed our fries for dinner that night. I kept the potato on display for a few days until Ron insisted that it become a French fry like all its brothers and sisters. it was delicious!

While on the subject, you may enjoy this post by Sugar, which shows what happens when potatoes need discipline.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

This is an extract from the story First Girlfriend by Ben Richfield, which appeared in Janus magazine many years ago. It appeals to me because it is set in England during the swinging 60's, It is an enjoyable journey along a young man's discovery of domination and submission.

This story is the truth. If it is not the whole truth and nothing but the truth, that is as much due to the vagaries of my memory as any self-deception on my part. Whichever, I cannot pretend that I do not have the advantage of hindsight.

I left school in mid-term, in March 1966, in circumstances I shall not recount here. Suffice it to say that I was accepted by a major firm for an engineering apprenticeship, but told I could not start until June, along with the general run of school-leavers. In that month I would celebrate my eighteenth birthday, and... as far as I was concerned that was when the 'Swinging Sixties' really began. It was the greatest time of my life.

To pass those three months before taking up my apprenticeship I took on temporary work in a supermarket, stacking shelves. I had attended a single sex grammar school and this was my first experience, as an adult, of the society of females. Not only had I never kissed a girl, I had never so much as asked one out.

It was not that I was scared of girls. Rather I was scared of my own feelings of lust towards them, mistakenly regarding them as demure, innocent creatures. I felt certain that if ever I spoke to one, my eyes would betray the lasciviousness of my thoughts...

There were a number of girls just a year or two older than me who worked in the place. The one I fancied most was a little Irish lass called Ann with a thick mop of glorious red hair and startlingly clear green eyes, and the most sexy, shapely figure I had ever seen in real life, as opposed to in those magazines we lads weren't supposed to know about. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, but had a very lively face, a neat, straight nose and an endearingly lopsided smile which she treated everyone to as often as she could.

One day she cornered me alone. "Do you like Linda?" she demanded in her pretty southern Irish brogue. I was stunned for two reasons. Firstly I have always been fairly affable, so of course I liked the girl she mentioned - I liked everyone there. But, naive as I was, I knew there was something deeper behind Ann's question. Linda was such a quiet girl, even shyer than I was, so I had barely noticed her. I struggled in vain for a coherent reply.

Ann pressed on with determination. "Why don't you ask her out?" she persisted. "Go on - she fancies you!"

I can only speculate as to the incredulous look on my face at this piece of news only from Ann's reaction to it, for she continued to persuade me as to the veracity of her statement. She confided that Linda had told her this herself and was too shy to follow through so Ann had decided to lend a helping hand.

What choice did I have in the face of all this? The girl was attractive enough I suppose. She was very quiet and blushed a fair bit, with the colour of hair they used to call 'mousy' but is now, I believe, referred to as 'dark blonde' She was taller than Ann, about 5'6", slim and quick in her movements, with wide blue eyes that had a perpetually guarded expression, and a little snub nose that, in time, I found incredibly appealing. The following day, a Saturday, I took her to the pictures after work...

The trouble now was that I hadn't the least idea what was expected of me. On the way to the cinema I walked awkwardly by her side, not knowing whether putting my arm around her would be considered too forward. I did at least know it would be rude to put my hands in my pockets, so I let them dangle at my sides like two big ugly hams. I have never been so embarrassed in all my life.

For the first half hour or so in the cinema, things did not improve. Having done the gentlemanly thing and helped her off with her coat, I had no idea what to do next. I sat there stiffly, miserable, my mind a complete blank. Finally Linda turned to me and, in a voice redolent with impatience, remarked "My boyfriends usually put their arms round me!"

It was news to me that I was Linda's boyfriend, but very welcome nonetheless, for by now I had become more than somewhat drawn towards the softly fragrant form beside me and longed to touch it. So I obeyed her order - it was not subtle enough to be called a hint - and that marked the last time Linda ever had to take the initiative in our affair, for she was a very traditional girl.

As I put my arm around her, a tremor ran right through me, for - in the reflected light from the screen - I saw a look on her face that said she was begging to be kissed. I understood that immediately, and the shock of recognition was thrillingly stomach-churning. It was not that she had closed her eyes, for she didn't do that until our lips met, but there was, about her face and her lips such a yielding softness that I bent my head slowly to hers until we were locked in a kiss.

That girls liked to be kissed I already knew. In fact, I had been told they were 'dead soppy' about kissing. So much so that they might allow you 'a bit of tit' - as schoolboys so delightfully expressed it - in return. It was also school folklore that if their nipples got hard they were getting 'worked up'. To my delight, Linda allowed me 'a bit of tit' on that first date, the very first time I had felt a female breast, and very nice it was too. Hers were rather on the small side, a little to my disappointment at the time. But they set my tastes for the future for that's how I prefer them now. Better still she had large nipples which went rock hard!

Emboldened by my progress, I found the nerve to put my hand up her skirt after the intermission. We were still engaged in kissing, of course, and I regarded this as part of the 'bargain'. All the while expecting Linda to stop me, I slid my hand up her stockinged leg, over the softer texture of her stocking tops and on to the warm bare flesh of her thigh, exploring her suspender straps. I even managed to stroke her through the thin material of her knickers but I over-reached myself by trying to slip my fingers inside, whereupon Linda promptly shut her thighs tightly. That had the effect of trapping my hand there and I had enough movement left in my fingers to continue tracing the contents of her gusset.

Afterwards, outside the cinema, I put my arm round her in masterful fashion. How easily the male ego is boosted. In less than two hours I had been transformed from a rabbit into a lion. I ran my hand down her hip, outside her coat, and onto her flank enjoying the feel of her rippling buttock as she walked.

"You're a fast worker!" Linda gasped in a voice rich in admiration and pride. I puffed out my chest like a peacock and thenceforth I never looked back.

Wednesday afternoons was early closing and of course I wanted as much of Linda as I could get. My mother worked, hers didn't, so I took her back that next Wednesday to my parents house. After taking her coat, I practically lunged at the poor girl. Having plonked her down on the sofa, I shot my hand straight up her skirt. Linda squealed, clamped her legs together and cried 'No!'. In surprise and frustration, I blurted out "What's the matter with you?" My tone was unforgivably aggressive but before I could regret my crass insensitivity, Linda had submissively murmured "Sorry." and, to my surprise, obediently opened her legs again - and what legs they were!

Her skirt was not as short as many to be seen in those days as Linda's parents were far too strict to allow such a thing. Nevertheless it was short enough to display as good looking a pair of pins as I have ever laid eyes on. Her calves were firm and round, and her thighs - Oh God, her thighs! Warm, firm, rounded, beautiful. In her stockings she was the sexiest sight imaginable. I have always admired a nice female bottom and Linda's arse was magnificent. With two such fine columns to support it, how could it have been otherwise?

Once she had surrendered and opened her legs for me, Linda complied immediately with all my unspoken demands. When my fingers went to the waistband of her knickers, she lifted her glorious bottom to allow me to pull them down. I played awhile with the moist furry creature between those heavenly legs, then pushed her skirt up further demanding that she display herself fully before me. I had my first ever sight of a girl's most intimate treasure and I was not disappointed either at the sight or at the warm, musky, bitter-sweet smell of her.

I looked up at Linda's face and she wore a look of shy pride. With fumbling fingers, plus some help from Linda herself, I stripped off the rest of her clothes until she was down to just suspender belt and stockings. I made her parade and pose for me, dimly aware that she was gaining as much excitement from her exhibitionism as I was, as her trim figure strutted and swayed erotically to and fro in front of me. What had happened to the shy little girl from the canteen who couldn't say boo to a goose?

One day things changed. She wore tights (pantyhose) to work and I took an immediate dislike to them so boldly told her never to wear them again. Despite her obvious embarrassment at showing her stocking tops in public (for I had persuaded her into shorter skirts despite parental disapproval) she never wore tights when she was with me again. I disliked too much mascara and thick eye shadow too, so told her not to wear too much make-up. She complied totally and uncomplainingly with all my instructions. So, without thinking, I learned to make demands of her, demands she wanted to hear and to obey.

It was not long before Linda's masochism took on a physical, as well as mental, side. Then, and only then, did I realise it for what it was. It would not have dawned on me at all had I not been an avid reader of the works of De Sade and Sacher-Masoch.

It started one afternoon when she turned up in jeans. She began to tickle me, laughing mischievously, wordlessly inviting me to do the same to her. Naturally enough she was more ticklish than I, and was soon convulsed with helpless giggles. I stopped so she started again. This time my retaliation didn't stop until her pleasure became so intense it actually seemed to hurt her. "Give in?" I asked as I pinned her down.

Suddenly I wanted to hurt her, have her beg for mercy. I wanted to demonstrate power through pain. She was lying on her right side, her right leg straight out and her left leg drawn up so that there was a contrast in the shape of each buttock. The one nearer to me was held in a beautiful long curve, whilst the other bulged at its underside - the tight material of the jeans distorting their overall shape to very pleasing effect. I had both knees pressed down at her waist, between her ribs and hip, and now I began to rock up and down making her gurgle and splutter; my hands free to poke her flesh and fondle and grope her wherever I wished.

For a while I stroked her neck and played with her lovely little breasts, before moving my increasingly urgent attentions lower down. I squeezed and pinched at her right buttock before sensuously running my hand over the arc of her bent left buttock, tracing the centre seam of her jeans with my fingertips where it had sunk deep inside the cleavage of her bottom.

Linda giggled nervously as I did this. Perhaps there was not an entirely pleasant glint in my eyes. The urge to smack my hand down on that left cheek was becoming irresistible. Why should I resist the temptation? There were no constraints to my behaviour. Whatever I did, Linda forgave - enjoyed even. She told me that she endured it only for the kissing and making up afterwards, but she was not entirely convincing.

"I think I'm going to have to smack your arse!" I announced imperiously.

"Because I want to!" Linda watched warily, and not a little fascinated as I raised my hand high.

"Don't." she whispered, but her voice lacked any conviction.

I leered at her, then smacked my hand down on the exposed target as hard as I could. There was a satisfying loud smack, and my palm stung as I gave her drum-tight buttock a really hard spank. Linda yelped and cried out, "Don't!" again, in a little whining voice that sounded to me more of an invitation than a protest.

I smacked her there again, and again, and again. Linda whimpered, "Don't, you're hurting me," each time my palm struck her bouncing bottom. I paused, my determination to make the spanking hurt redoubled by the submissiveness of her response.

Suddenly I unleashed a flurry of spanks as hard as I could, so that Linda's whines turned to high pitched squeals. The only thing that stopped me was the smarting in my hand. I would have needed to be a bigger masochist than Linda to have kept on spanking her through those jeans because by now it was hurting me more than it was her!

Linda complained in her usual wheedling fashion when I let her up. I gruffly told her to take her jeans down so I could inspect the damage. She eased them to her thighs, frowning and pouting in mock resentment, until both her lovely mounds were bared to my gaze. The flesh of her left buttock was satisfyingly red, so I kissed it better - and of course one thing led to another!

Later, basking in the afterglow of love, I whispered to Linda, "Next time, I'll spank you properly. Over my knee. Your skirt up and your knickers down. Good and hard - on your bare arse!"

She blushed and giggled "You won't, you know!" I just grinned smugly for we both knew it was as certain as night following day.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Our topic this week was when we first realized our interest in spanking.

Simcor: Oh, I was very young. My first actual memory, I don't know, but I
remember me that in a lot of fantasies I had people were spanked both in
a school or judicial setting.

Annapurna: For some things, I’ve a good memory. Spanking is one of them.

I
was two years old when I started. By the time I was four, I was into
self-spanking, and soon started using a hairbrush or something similar.

My
mother was to blame. I received only one punishment spanking from her
on the bare bottom, and even then, it was no more than a dozen swats
with her hand. I cried because I was young and felt violated and wrongly
accused. Later, when I was twelve, she pulled me across her lap, this
time I was fully clothed, and she tried to do the same thing. I’m not
even sure what I had done, probably nothing. I didn’t feel anything; it
was almost a joke and so out of place with reality.

However,
that wasn’t the main issue between her and me. It was all the other
times, and they were many. Whenever she hugged me, she slapped my bottom
using her hand, firmly but playfully. It was a daily occurrence. No one
seemed to notice, but me. That went on from birth up until I was eight
years old.

You see, spanking runs in my family on my mother's
side. Maybe it was also part of the culture at that time. When I was
five, for example, a nurse slapped my bare bottom before I received a
shot by the doctor. I guess the nurse couldn’t resist. Why is that?

What
wasn’t part of the culture, however, was my mother’s habit of our
getting dressed together in the bathroom. It was her idea, why, I don’t
know. That went on for about a year until I was four. I still remember
her standing naked in front of me before I became disassociated and
blacked out.

Despite its early onset and plenty of time for me
to grow accustomed to it, I still feel uncomfortable with spanking.
While switchable, I like the burn of wood or leather and enjoy being
taken, but being raped, beaten, or dehumanized is something else. I
couldn’t live in a DD relationship either; I would simply break into
pieces. Spanking is certainly arousing for me, but I’ve seen instances
on the Internet that feel a little too violent, or the submissive
appears to give away all of his or her will to the one in charge.

Dan: I don't recall having any interest in spanking at all until I was in my
mid-30s. And, I can remember the precise event that changed things. I
saw a segment of the HBO series Real Sex that involved spanking. I don't
think I had ever even thought about spankings as a sexual activity, yet
as I watched television that night I was just incredibly stimulated by
the whole idea. It was maybe a year later than I stumbled on the
concept of spanking as part of domestic discipline. The feeling was even
more powerful, unlike anything I had experienced before. I've been
hooked ever since.

Hobbes: The earliest I can remember having this fascination was about ten or
eleven years old though it may have been there earlier and I do not
remember. And I know now that I was not alone since a few of my male
friends had as much or more interest in it as I did; we spent plenty of
time talking about it and not in just a passing way. By the age of
twelve I was a definite, committed spanko!

Roz: I know my fascination with spanking started as a young child. Not sure
why as I was never spanked apart from the occasional slap on the leg.

Bob B: My First memory was when I was around 8 years old. I heard the neighbor
shout at his daughter who was older than me, something like you are
never to old for a spanking young lady. Even at that young age I was
immediately aroused. My addiction has continually increased from that
day.

Sir Wendel: Mom was a believer in spanking as punishment. She had an actual paddle
that kept me from sitting on many occasions. Once in a great while she
would use the belt. One summer day after I turned 13 Mom took me to my
room and gave me a whipping on the bare bottom. When it was over she
left closing the door behind her. I stood up and caught a glimpse of the
woman next door through the windows. I secretly watched her change into
her swim suit with my sore bottom still exposed. I have been fascinated
with spanking ever since.

Arched one: I was not spanked as a child, but somehow I found that there were a lot
of nerve endings on the cheeks and I began self spanking when I was
about 8 using a fly swatter. I've been hooked since. My wife has been
spanking me for the past 20 years and I love it.

Nina: I was never spanked as a child and I have only seen a few harmless
spanking scenes on tv, which I found funny, but not more. Hubby was the
one who introduced me to it while dating and courting and he made it
veeerrrry exciting for me. The first spankings I experienced were on the
very erotic side of life and not meant to discipline me. But the clever
man had done that on purpose to introduce me to the real deal step by
step. He was so good at spanking me that I think about spankings a lot
lately, because I can't have them until our baby is there.

D: At school we had a game in which the loser had to bend over, and get
whacked with a gym shoe by the winner. I enjoyed being the winner, but
also got a thrill from being the loser.

It as not until my late
teens, that I finally got a young lady across my knees, and was able to
give her a good spanking across the seat of her skirt. I loved every
moment of it, and I don't think the young lady minded too much either !
It wasn't much later that the skirt came up, and I spanked her white
cotton panties, and finally, a while later, these came down, and I gave
my first, and she got her first bare bottom spanking. I never looked
back!

Baxter: My parents did not spank me and my sister hated that because she did get
spanked. But it interested me probably starting around age 10 or so. I
would grab a bread board from the kitchen and self spank my bare bottom.
I would also enjoy reading stories in magazines about spanking and have
been a spanko now for over 45 years.

Respecting Mistress: I was ten years old and a boy in my year at junior school - as it was
called then - was sent to head for misbehaviour and the talk was he
would be caned. I was horrified to think what that experience might be
like - but also fascinated, even though I didn't understand why.

We
moved house that same year and I went to a different junior school and
I recall one teacher taking great delight in telling us how he got the
strap and cane when he was a child.... Again I was horrified, but
fascinated - and aroused.

I still didn't understand me feelings ,
but looking back, that was the foundation of my lifelong interest in
CP, even though I was never caned at school or spanked at home.

River: My earliest memory of anything spanking related is when I was 5 years
old, reading the Little House on The Prairie books. I was fascinated
that there was a father involved and caring enough to discipline his
daughter. That started a lifelong fascination with male power and
responsibility. I didn't discover sexual spanking and Dd until after I
was married :-)

Bogey: I was spanked at home and school from the first grade on. I spanked girlfriends
from 14/15 on. But it was not until I was 19 that I got sexually
excited by spanking and that was at first getting spanked.

I
introduced Bacall to spanking before we married. But, it was over 10
years later until we discovered that I was doing it all wrong for her.
Easy change.

Jenny: As a teenager, I remember that I was embarrassed and tried not to reveal
my true interest in spanking scenes on TV and in movies (can't remember
which ones - maybe Taps?). My first conscious memory of feeling a
sexual response to spanking was when I browsed through some
sociology reading materials in the college bookstore. Soon after that, I
discovered Nancy Friday's books about women's sexual fantasy and my
faves all involved spanking. Other themes did not interest me at all.
That was the start of the path to where I am now.

Pecan Nutjob: I was spanked as a child, mostly by my mother, including on the bare. It
was not very frequent, but let's say that if we did something really
stupid or harmful, we could expect being dragged to some bedroom, then
pants would come down.

So during childhood, spankings were
associated with shame... especially because if I got a spanking it meant
that I had done something really bad.

Some people say they
dreaded spankings when they were children. I did not (my mom used
moderate strength and no implement), but neither did I desire them,
quite the contrary.

My interest with spanking arose later during
teenage years, say age 15-18. I had fantasies of a governess of a loving
but no-nonsense kind, who would not shy away from spanking me if needed
or (oh the shame) from taking my temperature rectally (I had been
anal-sensitive since early teenage years, perhaps as a result of getting
suppositories during childhood) or other embarrassing treatments.

Needless
to say, such fantasies were impossible to convey to my girlfriends from
the time, and my early university attempts at hints that my bottom
needed attention were unsuccessful.

Ronnie: I was never spanked as a child as as far as I know none of my friends
were either so it wasn't until I was at high school when I heard about a
boy being caned at the local grammar school. Then it wasn't until later
when I met P that spanking actually came into play.

Hermione: I was around four years old when I first realized that spanking turned me on. My aunt and uncle had come for a visit with their son who was my age. During their stay I saw for the first time how little boys differed from little girls anatomically. I also saw my cousin being spanked by my aunt. She touched his bottom frequently as a sign of affection, and he tried to do the same to mine, probably because it was natural to do so in his family. The outcome of that summer was that I thought of spanking whenever I masturbated, and subsequently noticed (and saved) colour comics and cartoons of spankings, even though I was unable to read yet. The rest is history.Thank you all for your recollections. Have a safe and productive week!

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Many of us have been interested in spanking since early childhood. For others, the realization may have occurred during the teen years, and for some, the interest didn't begin until adulthood.

What is your earliest recollection of being excited by the idea of spanking?

Please leave your response as a comment, and once everyone has had a chance to speak, I will publish a summary of our discussion. If you haven't joined in before, don't be shy. You are among friends here.

Baxter: That guy said I was so dumb I couldn't find my ass with both hands. Well
I did it. My ass is in my pants and oh I have a butt crack and my hand
is following it down and OHHH what was that and OOOOH that feels great.
Now I have both hands on my ass in my pants and boy what an ass I have.
Feels great.

Smuccatelli: Crabs, hell! These are LOBSTERS...Sunny: The middle pix is really 'yuk', first and third - oh well could be
cooling down a bum after a spanking or rubbing to get rid of a spanking.

Michael: Cindy says, "OOH, Ralph spanked me so hard this morning I needed this bag of
frozen peas stuffed down the back of my jeans to cool off. DAMN! My butt
is so warm the peas have thawed. DOUBLE DAMN!! The bag has split open.
NO! NO! Don't roll in there. And definitely not THERE! OMG! This is
starting to tease, excite me. And to think, I used to hate peas... eating
them, anyway."

Anon: Ooh that was quite a spanking. I'll never sit on my poor bottom again.

You have me rolling on the floor with laughter! What a great way to start the weekend! Don't forget to stop by for brunch in a few hours.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Last week we read Part 1 of A Man of Authority, in which a hitherto meek and gentle manager suddenly began to assert himself. The assertion continues:

Despite her distress, Marian swung her head round and stared at me in horror and astonishment.

"I didn't give you permission to look at me."

She stared into my eyes for a moment longer before fear conquered her amazement and caused her to swiftly throw her face back to the juncture of the walls. I delivered a sharp whack to her buttocks with the ruler. She let loose a breathy and startled yelp.

"Don't do that again."

"Sorry," she said anxiously.

"What?"

I mean, sorry, Sir," she said, even more anxiously.

"Obviously I haven't been smacking you hard enough over the last few minutes. At least that's the impression your insolence is giving me."

"You have, Sir!"

I hit her with the ruler once more, barking, "Shut up!"

She wailed, her entire body jerking. Then she stood rigid and silent. From where I was, I could see her pretty, fresh face was crumpled in the effort to make no sound as she wept.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to speak only when spoken to?"

She nodded, eyelids bunched.

"Perhaps I need to ring your mother to tell her of your misbehaviour." Her eyes widened at the prospect but she dared not say anything in reply. "What do you think, Marian?"

Having been given permission to speak by an interrogative, she could barely manage it. "Please don't..." she whimpered.

"Hmmm. Well, I shall see if your attitude improves after the next round of punishment. If it doesn't - if I get any more insolence of the kind you've just shown me - then I shall ring your mother. Is that clear?"

She nodded miserably.

"Right. I want you on top of the desk on all fours."

She turned slowly and, teeth sunk into her lower lip, walked with an air of complete dejectedness back to my desk. As she climbed onto it in the ungainly way her half-mast underwear necessitated, I was treated to the sight of her vaginal lips peeping briefly between her thighs before she settled herself and demurely closed her legs.

I crossed over to her and pushed her blouse further up her back - which gave me another excuse for a prolonged bout of contact with that soft silk-like flesh. At my thigh level, the worn soles of her court shoes pointed at me rather in the manner of those cartoons where a horizontal man and woman are represented only by the bottoms of their feet. It was such a demeaning position for a young lady and it gave me yet another surging thrill. I was emboldened still further.

"Chin on the desk," I said.

Marian lowered her face until it was resting among my papers. I put my fingers inside her pantyhose and knickers and slipped them as far down her legs as they would go.

"Now spread your legs," I commanded. There was just a perceptible hesitation, then she parted her thighs about one centimetre. I smacked one of her cheeks and shouted "Wider!"

She let out a sob but she still shifted her legs as much as was possible. She was now in the most undignified and revealing position of all... I swallowed hard. I could have simply stood and stared at this beautiful sight for hours. I gathered my reeling senses and positioned myself to one side of her. I raised the ruler. Just as I was about to strike, I stopped and shifted my aim. I swung my arm down and the transparent end of the ruler made contact right below her open bottom cleft. Marian let out a desperate scream and her torso sprang upwards. I moved quickly, grabbing her neck and savagely thrusting it back the way it had come.

"Down! Down!" I ordered.

Groaning in agony, shell-shocked, she sank back towards the desk-top.

"You will not scream. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she moaned in a delirium of pain. Her hands were fluttering around her thighs. I took hold of each of them in turn and threw them onto the desk.

It was the first time I had been worried we might be overheard. Marian's work space separated us from where our nearest colleagues might conceivably be, and even that was an underused corridor. However, such was the piercing quality of her exclamation that it was just possible someone might have heard it. I waited for a few moments, frozen with one hand clasped around Marian's neck. There were no sounds of feet pounding in our direction, no anxious banging on the door. I relaxed.

I squeezed her neck harder and said, "Marian, if you disturb our workmates by making a row like that again, I'll double your punishment. Clear?"

Her lips struggled across the paper they were pressed flat against and enunciated a distorted "Yes, Sir."

"Good." I let go of her neck. I walked around the desk and retrieved from one of its drawers a plastic, tubular container. I lifted Marian's head by pulling on a clump of her red bob and instructed, "Open your mouth!" She did so. I put the glue canister lengthways between her lips. That done, I circled back to her other, even lovelier end. "Now. We shall start again."

And we did. Down would come that ruler with a whistle like a flying arrow. Muffled would emerge the vocal response as Marian squealed through the fat tube of plastic that was keeping her expression in a permanent grimace. Bang would go my heart at the knowledge of the delightful suspense I was creating in her mind by varying my target; she never knew where one of the downward sweeps would land. For another ten minutes this went on - without doubt the greatest ten minutes of my life.

When I finally went back round the desk and removed the tube from Marian's mouth, so deep were the teeth marks that I was surprised she hadn't bitten clean through the surface.

I told Marian she could stand up. As she did, I was gratified to see that she was now so submissive that she resisted the urge to comfort her bottom and instead stood to attention, hands flat against her sides.

"You now know what the consequences of tardiness will be, Marian. I expect no more of it. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," she muttered in a cracked voice. "It'll never happen again, I promise."

I sucked my lips in to hide my smile. Oh yes it would! For the first time in my life I had experienced a taste of power and I would surely arrange a way to exert it again. And again. And again. It didn't matter how meticulous Marian was from now on. She would continually find herself having to report to me in disgrace with the news that an article had - inexplicably - gone missing.

"Get dressed," I instructed her and she did so with alacrity.

You may think this is the end of the story. Not so. Our wedding invitations have just been sent out and you never know, you may be one of the lucky ones!

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Nina: Hermione, that’s something you could write a whole story about. I think
there would be categories like best good girl/boy spanking, most
efficient punishment spanking, best facial expression, best remorseful
look, best looking tushy, actually this has to be a divided category
because of the before and after effect.

There should also be something
like an alternative punishment award, for those moments when you cannot
be spanked but need discipline. The HoH should receive some awards too,
e.g. an award for best arm swing, maybe best knees, best lecturer and
there has to be an award for strictest look during punishment. And if
you have that, maybe the voice should have an award too. Oh my, the list
could go on forever.

I suggest Dame Judy Dench as presenter, because
I like her and she can have this very calm and serious look of
authority without appearing strict or harsh.

The award could be either a
simple paddle in gold, though this is rather profane, therefore I
suggest a little scene with a HoH who has already got a paddle or cane
in his hand and he is lecturing his wife, while she is standing in front
of him, head down with a slightly guilty look. If it were a good girl
scene, she would smile happily and he would not lecture but tell her
something naughty, instead.

I have no idea who could receive the
awards in blogland, but a lifetime award should go to Bonnie from My
Bottom Smarts, because of her longtime commitment and her awesome
tutorials. I guess for best good girl spanking, many HoH qualify,
depending on what their wives need. I have no idea if I qualified for
any award, though I would like to have the best looking tushy award :)

Happy Easter.

Happy Easter to you too!

Blondie: This could be a lot of fun. First I would have the Awards ceremony
somewhere on the East of the US. Why? Most of the people I have
interacted with though blogging, groups and selling paddles, seem to be
in that area.

I would not include those people who are only
interested in domestic disciple - probably because I can't think of a
category for them.

I would have Dom's and Dominatrix. I would
separate one from the other though. Some doms/dome are known for being
experts in different types of spankings, whippings, canings,floggings,
and technique for tying someone up. There could also be sub categories,
how well can one be submissive (like how they present themselves), how
long they can be spanked (tolerance) etc. Also authors for the different
kind of stories - historical, contemporary, training manuals, etc.

Dana
Kane would be a good host. She is already very good at speaking to
audiences and she knows a lot about spankings. An implement category
would be great too, especially since we make and sell paddles. Last, a
category for one of the oldest/well known Dom/Domme and Sub and a
category for newcomers too.

S & D: We think the awards should be a mini olympics, with a panel of judges to
assess each class. Groups could be for different implements, such as -
hand, hairbrush, paddle, and cane and then further into, clothed,
knickered or bare bottom, Points could be given for presentation,
innovation, bottom quality, and how well the spankee took the alloted
number of whacks. Perhaps a grand finale, when all the class winners
parade for the audience to decide who has the best marked bottom.

The
awards would be in the form of an upturned bottom, cast in gold silver
or bronze, and perhaps have the name a 'Bonnie' after the lady who gave
us so many years of spanking blog, and so often put her own bottom in
the firing line in that blog.

Perhaps Bonnie could be tempted out of retirement to present the awards!

Wouldn't that be fine!

Sir Wendel: THE SPANKEEs

Best Spanking Blog
- For the most creative and interesting blog about spanking.
Biggest Brat
- For the lady that misbehaves the most and always deserves a spanking.
Most Spanked
- Pretty self explanatory.
Best Spanker
- For the one who gives the best spankings.

A spanking is not only about getting a sore bottom. There is a technical side to it.
Best Setting
- For the most creative location.
Best Implement.
- For the most effective implement used to brighten a bottom.
Best Sore bottom.
- For the best looking marks when the spanking is over.
Best Sound Effects
- For the best sounding spanking.

Ronnie: Location would be New York only because I've never been and as it would be a Spanking Award Ceremony, I would have to attend:)
MC - Not sure, Devlin, Dave Wolfe maybe Erica or Bonnie.
Statue - A gold paddle.
Awards go to both spankers and spankees.
Category possibilities:-
Best Blog
New Spanker/spankee of the year
Best facial expression during a spanking
Best Dominatrix
Would be lots more.

I agree with others - a life time award would definitely have to go to Bonnie.

Right, whose going to organise one?:)

Respecting Mistress: The location would be London because, after all, England is the home of ‘Le Vice Anglais’.

Presenter
would be Lady Pandora, a no nonsense professional disciplinarian who is
also 100% life-style CP enthusiast. She would also chair the judges,
ably assisted by Dana Kane and Ludwig (at Ludwig’s Rohrstock-Palast).

The
categories, as others have suggested, would be for the strictest
disciplinarian, the most skilled with various implements (cane, tawse,
paddle, whip), best rope bondage. Each would have a category for female
and male dominant.

I’d have a categories for the best submissive male and female, best sissy and best maid (male and female).

I’d have special awards for the best video – split info two categories for professional and domestic films.

There
would also be competitions for the best art (F/m and M/f), the best
authors (in M/f and F/m categories) and the best F/m and M/f blogs.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Welcome to another Sunday brunch! In the past few weeks we watched the JUNO Awards (the Canadian Music Awards) and more recently the MTV Movie Awards. So I thought, why not the Spanko Awards?

If you could create an awards ceremony for those of us interested in spanking, what would it be like? What categories would there be, for both spankers and spankees? Who would be the MC or presenter for the show? What would the award statue look like? Would it have a name? What would be the ideal location for such an extravaganza? Can you suggest possible candidates or winners in any of the categories? Would you qualify for one or more?

Let your imaginations run wild and tell us your ideas for the Spanko Awards by leaving a comment. Once everyone has spoken, I will publish your suggestions.

GaryNTboy: Tracey had mislaid her glasses again and so found out the hard way that
super glue comes in much smaller bottles than fake tan...

Polly: Lucy decided that if she played the "limp fish" and started crying into
the comforter before he even started he might take sympathy on her...
but probably not.

King Marshal: "Play dead... play dead... it works on bears..."

Welcome, Marshal!

Blondie: I remain in position, laying over the edge of the mattress, waiting. I do not know how long I have been waiting.

Prefectdt: Her swimming coach had been proved right, she could not practice her
butterfly stroke without a pool. Now that she had lost that bet, the
spanking would be next.

Ronnie: Sally wondered how long she would have to lie here before her bottom cooled down.

Vfrat25000: Another victim succumbs to that dreaded disease known as “Girl’s Night Out!”

Suzy… Has your sister and her eight boys left yet?

May I remind you that YOU are the one who added “Running a Marathon” to your life’s bucket list!

Jennifer… Jennifer… Where
is that woman? Oh there you are. I guess that new cold medication is
working. I’ll let you rest. Call me if you need anything!

Look
who apparently didn’t believe that my Mom and Dad’s famous Kentucky
Homemade Moonshine is a wee bit stronger than her big city White
Chablis.

Shhhh! I am going to put a Blue Ribbon that says
FIRST PRIZE in each hand. For the next few days she will be obsessed
with trying to figure out what contest she won!

Pearl: She looks submissive doesn't she. Look a little closer, she just gave a good F***off to her Dom... she kept her socks on!!

Welcome, Pearl!

Annapurna: In despair, I give up utterly. So, whoever took my thong, please return it—now! Then,
maybe I’ll let you spank me, and only after if you do something real
nice, like buying me a new Beemer. A Four Series will do quite nicely.

Anon2: Just stay right there, whilst I fetch my very best paddle to give your scrumptious bottom the spanking it is clearly asking for.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

We recently went to see Spank! The Fifty Shades Parody, and I'm so anxious to tell you all about it.

I bought the tickets online as soon as I saw the advertisement - after getting Ron's permission, of course. I was quite excited at first, but as the date of the performance drew closer I wondered if we might not enjoy it, not having read the book. I started reading it, but only got half way through before the show. Ron declined to read any of it.

When we arrived at the theatre, we noticed that the audience was made up mostly of 20 - 30 year-old women, in small and large groups. There were a few older ones like me, and very few men (I counted 16 out of maybe 500 patrons). We didn't see anyone we knew, but then, we stayed in our seats during the intermission to avoid the possibility.

The atmosphere was electric and the audience seemed very keyed up. Women were taking pictures of each other and chattering excitedly. The pre-performance and intermission techno music was way too loud, and the audience was even louder since you had to shout to be heard. It was more like an evening in a club than at the theatre.

The show consisted of three characters, no set and very few props. The first character was a housewife who - after sending her husband and children away for the weekend - was writing a romantic novel using the pen name E.B. Janet. Her characters - the innocent Tasha Woode and the handsome yet kinky Hugh Hanson - came to life as she wrote. Sometimes, when she had gone a bit too far in her fantasy, they would refuse to go through with what she had written and she would have to rewrite.

The significant features of the 50 Shades of Grey book were parodied, including the overly-effusive descriptions of sex, the overpowering effect Christian has on women, the strange documents and contracts he insists on, his wealth, and Anastasia's clumsiness, beauty and total innocence.

For example, in the book, Christian flies Ana to dinner in another city in his private helicopter. In the show, not only do Hugh and Tasha take the helicopter, but also a hovercraft, and finally jet packs.

There is also a brief mention of the first Twilight book, which 50 Shades is based on. E.B. Janet has her two characters running through the forest at the speed of light, playing vampire baseball, and sparkling in the sunlight. Then she deletes it, saying it's far too silly.

Another good scene came when Hugh takes Tasha home to meet his family. Apparently everyone in the entire family is exceptionally good-looking and everyone looks alike. (I haven't reached this part in the book yet.) Tasha gets increasingly confused as she strikes up a conversation with Hugh's mother, only to find out it's his father. Similarly, when she speaks to his brother it turns out that it's actually his sister.

The performance was extremely entertaining, and the actors were very talented singers and dancers. We both laughed a lot. Ron enjoyed it even though he hadn't read the book. It was very raunchy and sexually explicit, but luckily there were no children in the audience. The funniest moments were when Tasha came down into the audience twice - once in each act - to innocently ask audience members for advice about sex. We were both glad I hadn't chosen seats in the front row. The actors also made at least a dozen references to our city: the transit system, the weather, the university and nearby towns. This was no mean feat for a touring company performing in a different location each night.

Was there any spanking? No. One of the few props was a riding crop, but it didn't actually get used. Hugh sang an extremely funny song that ended with the line "I can paddle you forever, you can be my sex canoe," and several of the songs included references to spanking and bondage. There was also the small matter of anal sex, which Tasha repeatedly refused to have anything to do with.

The bottom line is, if you have the opportunity to see the show, by all means go. It's still on tour in North America. To further whet your appetite, here's the official trailer.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

This short story was published in Kane magazine years before the movie Secretary came out, but I think the similarity is striking. The author of A Man of Authority is unknown, but he has clearly described his fantasy of taking command in his office. I hope you enjoy it.

" I don't want to have to tell you again!!

My words were stern and unforgiving. My tone, unfortunately, wasn't. My secretary - a girl called Debbie, in her early 20s with an insouciant jut to her mouth - glanced towards a female colleague who was in the room to collect something and shared a smile with her. I turned towards my own office door with a briskness that was an attempt to hide from the two women the fact that my face had turned crimson - which no doubt would have given them even greater amusement.

In my office, with the door blessedly closed, I sat with hammering heart. Scenes similar to the one which had just taken place had been a regular feature of my working life for the previous three weeks. Ever since I had secured my first significant promotion.

Wielding authority does not come easily to me. Not even ticking off a lowly secretary for leaving the telephone ringing while she gossiped with her friend. I'm a man from a fairly humble background who has, until recently, known only the experience of being an underling in his professional existence.

That all changed less than a month ago.

As a general office help at a magazine concerned with foreign travel, I was deeply surprised to learn from Maurice, the outgoing deputy, that I had been short-listed for his job. My vaguely defined position at the magazine may have entailed hard work and long hours but I would hardly have thought that made me material for the second most important post in the building.

That's my inferiority complex talking, I suppose. The very thing which makes me embarrassed to try to throw my weight around now that I do indeed find myself with an important place in the hierarchy. But when you've only been a 'gofer' since leaving school, there's a part of you that can't help thinking you have no right to be telling other people what to do.

As I sat there at my desk, I realised my throat was dry. Nerves always do that to me. I craved a cup of tea to calm me down but I was too ashamed to buzz for one. The smirk Debbie would inevitably have on her face when she brought it in would only make me feel worse. Thank God she was leaving at the end of the week. No doubt I wouldn't be any more able at dealing with her replacement but at least we would be starting afresh. I wouldn't be thinking as I bathed and shaved each morning of whatever embarrassing incidents there had been the previous day and consequently dreading the knowing 'Good Morning Mr. Evans' as I walked through the door. Not until the new one had experienced my pathetic attempts at being masterful, anyway.

By a couple of days later I had interviewed two girls for Debbie's job and I didn't like either of them. They both had Debbie's air of breezy confidence - the kind so often found in the young these days and which translates into a contempt for authority - and particularly mine! I was forced to admit to myself, however, that both of them would be able to do the job competently; whatever the deficiencies in their attitude, their secretarial courses had bestowed on them faultless shorthand and typing skills. I still had one more applicant to interview but I had just about made my mind up to accept one of the first two I'd seen on the grounds that she had more qualifications than either of the others.

Before I did I would have to go through the formality of talking to this third girl as the interview had already been arranged. As well as her modest academic achievements, the form she'd completed in advance told me she was named Marian Ball and was just eighteen years old.

I could see the difference between her and the others immediately I laid eyes on her. She entered my office in a somewhat tentative manner - as though she might not be welcome even though I'd told Debbie to show her through. I stood up and said "Hello."

"Hello" she responded in a soft voice, grinning and averting her eyes shyly.

I motioned her into the seat in front of my desk. She sat down and put her knees together, her handbag in her lap.

Marian was a redhead, but not the stuff of legend. Fiery was not the word to describe her. Throughout the ten minutes we spoke, she barely looked at me, keeping her gaze fixed on the table top between us. I didn't mind this in the slightest, for it afforded me ample opportunity to take in her pretty features. Although Debbie was attractive, there was a far greater appeal to this girl. Beneath her boyishly short hairstyle, she had a fresh faced appearance that was quite lovely. Her creamy skin was given just a tinge of colour by the small dashes of natural redness on her cheeks. Those dashes of red frequently ballooned in size when Marian found herself looking into my eyes or was compelled to divulge a fact she apparently considered intimate (things like how she'd found her recently finished secretarial course or how easy would it be to travel to the office).

It was this bashfulness that supplied the finishing touches to her beauty. Her shyness was part and parcel of what made her so appealing. It was also a hugely refreshing change from the over confidence of the women I worked with day after day. Midway through the interview I had decided; Marian would be my new secretary.

I told her this as I was showing her the door. She swung round to me with such an expression of gratitude and joy that I thought she might fling her arms around me.

"Oh, thank you," she cooed.

"See you first thing on Monday," I smiled.

As she turned to walk out, I couldn't help but notice the pertness of the bottom which protruded through the black material of her skirt. Evidently her face was not the only pretty attribute I would have the pleasure of seeing daily from now on.

From the Monday of Marian's arrival as an official employee of the magazine, I felt as though I had a new lease of life. No longer did I dread coming in to work to be confronted by surliness and mickey-taking. No longer did I have to put up with the barely disguised insubordination of a gum-chewing slut. Marian was the soul of politeness and propriety. She was such a good-natured and timid little creature that the very idea of not doing as she was instructed - and furthermore, not doing it eagerly and methodically - would have appalled her. I was instantly and profoundly happy.

As a secretary, Marian wasn't quite as good as Debbie. I, of course, had expected this as I had overlooked the superior qualifications of the other two applicants in favour of the more demure personality. However, as a man newly promoted, I was naturally very anxious to keep in the good books of John, the editor, and when Marian came to me one day and shame-facedly told me she'd lost the copy of one of our writers with the printer's deadline only 3 hours away, my reaction took no account of the fact that, had I chosen one of the cleverer women it probably wouldn't have happened. In short, I lost my rag.

"For God's sake!" I barked angrily.

To my surprise, Marian almost jumped out of her skin. She looked at me with startled wide eyes, before jerking her face down and staring at the floor. She remained in that position.

It was the last thing I'd expected. I knew she wasn't insolent in the manner of Debbie, of course, but I was surprised at the lack of any hint of irritation or sense of injustice in her expression. She merely looked crestfallen but totally accepting of my fury.

Something inside me stirred. The sight of her meekly lowered eyelids and limp stance sent a ripple of pleasure through me. I banished the notion I'd had a moment earlier to apologise for my outburst. Instead, I injected greater venom in my voice, as I barked "What do you think you're playing at?"

It was the same tone I'd often used with Debbie, but whereas Debbie had always snorted with suffused laughter, Marian was so intimidated she actually flinched.

"Sorry," she managed in a strangulated voice, not looking up from her feet.

I gazed at her. This was a young woman who clearly accepted authority uncritically. She was simply too naive to think that my behaviour was out of proportion to her offence. As that thought entered my head, a tremendous sensation of excitement welled in me. An excitement prompted by a notion my brain hardly dared articulate of the possibilities that had just opened up for me.

"Stand up straight!" I said in a quieter but still severe voice.

She looked at me momentarily but did as she was told, moving her eyes from me to the wall over my shoulder. I licked my lips. This was just too good to be true. I was so excited that I had to moisten my throat with saliva before speaking again.

"Are you trying to get fired, Marian?"

"No!" She protested. "I'm just... I'm just... I'm sorry."

I chanced my luck. I had to see how far I could push this. "I'm sorry, Sir" I corrected her. "When you have just jeopardised the printing of an entire issue of the magazine you work for, you will have the courtesy to address me as 'Sir'."

This was make or break. An outraged response to this gambit would tell me I was barking up the wrong tree. But in the next second, my hunch was proved to be gloriously correct as Marian quickly attempted to make good her mistake. "Sir," she appended in an anxious voice.

"That's better," My tone might have been harsh but I was having difficulty breathing, so delicious were the thoughts tugging at my mind. I walked slowly round the desk and sat in my chair. I looked at her for a few seconds. When I had managed to gather myself, I spoke again to the forlorn looking figure standing as rigid as a flagpole before me.

"So you wouldn't want to lose your job, would you, Marian?"

"No," she then quickly added, "Sir."

"Can you give me a good excuse why you shouldn't? You realise how serious this is?" Of course, it wasn't that serious at all, insofar as, even if the writer couldn't be contacted to supply a new copy of the article by fax, it wouldn't be the end of the world to delay printing by a day. But I was by now almost certain that Marian was too naive and simple a creature to have worked that one out.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

She took her eyes off the wall to look at me. I maintained a steady, merciless stare. She flicked her eyes away.

"Please, Sir," she was close to tears. "I'll never do it again. Please don't fire me. My mum will kill me!"

As I thought. Her personality had suggested it to me since she had started work, as had her demeanour over the past couple of minutes. With that comment I knew for sure. This was a girl who'd had a very strict upbringing. A girl who took dressing-downs from her superiors without resentment or question. Someone who therefore, surely, would accept whatever punishments were deemed fit for her transgressions. My heart was, by now pounding almost unbearably.

"Marian, you have two choices."

She turned her frightened, doe-like eyes on me once more.

"You can be fired. Or you can be punished."

I kept up the merciless stare. This time she was too frightened to even look away. "Which is it to be?"

"I don't want to be fired, Sir," she wailed.

I was astonished by how calm I remained. "Very well then," I said, rising and picking up my 12 inch plastic ruler as I walked round to her side of the desk. I used it ordinarily for working out the layout of pages. I was now going to use it for a purpose that I had never anticipated in all my wildest fantasies.

"Come here," I ordered.

Marian stepped forward the two paces that took her to the edge of the desk.

"Bend over the desk."

Hands still at her sides, she looked at me wide eyed, at the ruler in my hand, back at me.

My nerve almost failed me for a moment. But I realised I had already come so far that there was no turning back.

"Now!" I commanded.

At that, any thought of resistance in her crumbled. She simply did not disobey such firmly issued instructions. I said a silent prayer for the magnificent values that had so clearly been drummed into her by her mother. Marian dipped and put her palms on my cluttered table top. As she did so, the breadth and depth of her admirable bottom swelled quite wonderfully.

She still had one leg bent and was only making contact with the desk with her hands. I soon corrected that with a firm "I said right over the desk!" which prompted her to lean forward and press the full weight of her bosom upon my papers.

I crossed to the door and locked it.

Then I moved back to Marian and started to unclip and unzip her dark blue skirt. Again, I surprised myself with the calmness of my actions. For a man who had never been comfortable wielding authority, I was now finding it incredibly easy to abuse my power to an outrageous extent. Marian's head did not move as I performed the actions and not a whimper of protest emerged from her. Emboldened by this, I yanked her skirt down without even bothering to tell her to lift herself slightly off the table to assist the process. When in fact she did lift her body, unbidden, on my first tug being unsuccessful, I knew I was home free. She was now completely pliant. From here on I could do what I wanted.

I roughly grabbed her ankles in turn and lifted them so as to pull the skirt completely off. I folded it neatly and put it on the chair she had recently been sitting in. Beneath the skirt she was wearing white pantyhose and - visible through the translucent material - white knickers. I lifted the tail of her red blouse to find the waistband of the hose. I put my fingers inside and slowly rolled the pantyhose down to her thighs. The material of her knickers was revealed to be wedged into the cleft of her bottom. The sight of this indentation in her underwear struck me as so intimate and made her look so pathetic and totally at my mercy that it caused a feeling of pure, unadulterated power to surge through me. It manifested itself in a delirious slap to her backside.

Marian's body jerked and she exclaimed "Oww!". There was no tone of affront in her voice, though, only that reluctant acceptance which had set me on this course in the first place, but if there had it would have made no difference. The way her plump little buttocks had wobbled under my palm had intoxicated me. Even as the yelp was leaving her lips, I was tugging down the last remnants of her modesty.

Marian did not react for a couple of seconds as I yanked her white knickers down to join the hose at her thighs. But then a hiss escaped from her lips and, from the way her shoulders began to shake, it was obvious she had begun to cry.

I was too busy feasting my eyes on that nude derriere to take much notice. One can see women's backsides in any number of magazines at any corner newsagent's shop but to have a real, fresh young bare bottom before you is something else entirely. I could have gasped at the sight. Marian had a rear that was as near to perfect as it is possible for anything to be. It was generously proportioned , though not so large as to be grotesque, and had an appearance of flawless smoothness. And, as I watched, its appearance was enhanced by an irregular quivering that was the result of its owners body contracting with sobs. I knew as soon as I saw this delight that the ruler would have to wait. I quietly laid it on the chair beside her skirt. No implement could transmit the sensations to be experienced by actual physical contact with her delightful flesh.

I laid my left hand on the small of her back. Marian looked round at this. I had the feeling that she thought I had decided to show mercy and was trying to attract her attention in order to tell her. In fact, it was for no other purpose than that I wanted to maintain a permanent union with her fair tender skin. When she saw me lift my other hand in order to strike, she turned her face away in disappointment. This gave me a cruel pleasure - as did my next action. I swept my right palm down. Those plump buttocks - cold to the touch - shivered impressively and Marian let out a shrill, elongated "Aaaaahhh!"

"You've got no one to blame but yourself, Marian," I said sternly.

"I know," she replied in hysterical apology, her voice muffled by her face's proximity to the desk top.

"And there is much more to come yet."

She whimpered but didn't argue.

This time I concentrated my force on one cheek - the left one - and watched with satisfaction as it rolled momentarily towards me before bouncing back to rest in its natural position. Another high-pitched sound emanated from Marian. I felt vaguely disappointed that it was not as loud as the previous one. So her right cheek now got sterner measures and I was rewarded by the most distressed vocal emission yet, together with that whiplash roll of her buttock.

Both cheeks now carried a light smear of crimson. This fact, and what I'd done to cause it, was having quite an effect on me. I could feel the blood racing through my veins, borne forward by the frantic activity of that bodily machine responsible for controlling its flow. The hand which was pressed flat on the patch of skin just above Marian's bottom was clingy with sweat. In normal circumstances, an abundance of perspiration would have embarrassed me and I would have wiped it away. The beauty was, I realised, that I did not have to care a damn about it. Was this girl - this, by now, abjectly obedient creature - going to register a complaint? Of course she wasn't! I could afford to act with the kind of heady abandon I had never known in all my adult subordinate life. As far as she was concerned I was the man of authority and that was that. In a frenzy of delight, I walloped my hand down again and again, spanking away with a sense of reckless freedom.

Everything was now a blur - but a wonderful electrifying blur. I could barely keep up with the myriad of delicious sights and sensations I was experiencing, yet was securing a mind blowing excitement from the cumulative effect: Marian's shocked, despairing yelps, which were interspersed with the hiccoughing sounds of her weeping; the way her back undulated against my hand in futile attempts to lift herself; the swaying and wriggling of her tender white thighs as she tried somehow to avoid each successive blow; the ever deepening scarlet of her buttocks - the initial slight redness quickly assuming the furious hue associated with a serious case of sunburn.

Finally I slowed. I was shaking and out of breath, but this wasn't the reason. I wanted to begin a rhythm which would afford me more opportunity to let my hand linger. So I began to spank in a leisurely, methodical way. With each landing of the palm, I kept it against her rear for a second, sometimes two - not so long as to arouse suspicion but just long enough to gain some enjoyment from the feel of her lovely skin. No longer the cool surface it had been on my first strike, it was reminiscent of the outside of a kettle that had been recently boiled. I was going along almost in slow motion; an unhurried smacking motion with an abrupt halt at the end of it as I held her indented buttocks pressed flat while my hand drank in the sensation of the two gorgeous globes and the narrow valley between.

Marian's cries were now less hysterical and had settled into a series of mild exclamations that - even though she was unquestionably in distress - almost sounded routine. She would issue an "ooowww" or an "aaahhh" or a whimper or sob as though she felt she was expected to make some noise with each connection of my hand and her bottom. It occurred to me that this was a way of trying to gain my sympathy. I took supreme delight in resolving to show her none.

"Stand up and face me!" I said.

Head bowed, face glistening with tears, upper body shaking, she did as she was told.

"Stand up STRAIGHT!"

Instantly she jerked her body rigid and bit her lip in an attempt to control the motion of her torso. My eyes fell to her groin level, for she stood with hands at her sides, like a soldier, making no attempt to cover herself. For the first time I was witnessing her naked front. Before me was a perfect triangle of hair the same red as was present - in bobbed form - on her head. I had to tear my eyes away from the view. Her own eyes flicked away from me as I brought my gaze back to her face.

"Well", I demanded, "Are you beginning to learn your lesson now?"

She nodded and, barely able to speak for her tears, managed to utter "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now go and stand in the corner, facing the wall." I indicated the other side of the office.

Marian made to pull up her underwear but I angrily swept her hands down.

"As you are!" I ordered.

She had to pull her mouth in to prevent another outbreak of crying. She moved in the direction I had ordered. The sight of her blazing bottom dimpling as she walked away will stay with me for a long time. As will the memory of her pantyhose and knickers bunched around the tops of her legs - a spectacle the ludicrousness of which she must have been only too painfully aware of.

I moved the skirt aside, picked up the ruler and sat on the chair, watching as she stood with her nose an inch from the point where the two office walls met, listening to her sniffling and hiccoughing.

After a minute or so I called over to her. "You're not going to lose any more articles in a hurry, are you Marian?"

"No, Sir."

I rose, ruler in hand, and walked across. Standing beside her, I asked, "Did it hurt?"

She nodded, bit her lip until she could manage to speak without sobbing and finally managed, "Yes, Sir."

"Well that's the point. The only way to ensure there will be no repetition of such carelessness is if you are put right in a way you will never forget. Now, I want you to get ready for the second part of your punishment."

Monday, April 14, 2014

This week we asked what one implement you would take with you for a short trip. You said:

River: I think I would bring our large thick wooden spoon. I don't really like
it, as it can have me howling with just ten smacks. But I tend to get a
bit silly and excited when we go away, and when we are out and about and
I see something I like I tend to wander off. So I would need a bit of
motivation to make sure I behave as my husband expects me to.

Baxter: We are going to Paris and Amsterdam in a couple of months. I will be
wearing a new leather belt which will not only keep my pants up, but
upon request, will be removed and handed to my wife so that she can then
order pants and briefs to half staff and commence with a spanking. For
non airplane trips, the thick wooden spoon finds its way into the
luggage.

Abby: Well...Master can wear a belt, I of course, need a hairbrush, so I guess the leather flogger wins.

Leigh: The belt is the only item necessary beside his hand, of course.

Sir Wendel: I agree, the belt and hair brush are necessary items so the paddle goes in the bag. Three for the price of one.

Annapurna: Well, that means the spanking machine must stay at home.

Make it a hairbrush. Anything
else, except a belt, will raise suspicion with the TSA. Knowing them,
they'll take the unsuspecting traveler into a backroom and use the
implement on him or her!

Dragon's Rose: The stingy flogger. Dragon is a master with that thing. He makes me
purr every time he uses it. It can sting, feel like a fist or
cutting. It also leaves lovely marks.

Michael: Great brunch question, Hermione. The implement I would bring is our
riding crop with a black leather hand-shaped slapper. It is my favorite
because of its versatility. It can deliver ouchy stings with the leather
whistling through the air before making contact with Season's bottom. I
can give her light sensual pats very quickly covering her entire bum
and building to a crescendo leaving her writhing and gasping. If I
really want to impart a sting I use the leather covered body of the crop
as a cane and make Season really yelp. And best of all I caress her
bottom with the hand-shaped slapper; running it along Season's crease
and inner thighs cooling her heated flesh while raising both our
temperatures to erotic proportions.

Terpsichore: My husband's hand because it goes wherever he goes and his belt because
it still makes me shiver to think about it and does not cause waves of
questions if found. :-)

arched one: You have some good replies. I would have to say the wooden spoon and of
course she could also use my belt on me. I love the spoon as you can use
either side for a wonderful sting, and the belt covers both cheeks at
once.

S: If we do not have to go through customs, and perhaps have our bags
opened, then we take our wooden paddle; eighteen inches long, four wide,
with holes in it. Used gently and for a short time, it can produce a
lovely glow, but used hard and for some time, it really makes a girl's
bottom smart, and know it has had a sound spanking ! If there is a
problem with security, then it has to be my innocent-looking hairbrush,
and that can leave my bottom in a very tender state.

Nina: Hands, belt and hairbrush would be with us and if more was necessary, it
would probably be hubby's cane. We have several and there is one nice
and one nasty version. So, I'd choose the nice version, because it is
only used for positive moments :)

Dr. Ken: If I could pack and bring only one implement, it would most definitely
be a hairbrush. Those not in the know wouldn't look at it twice. Those
ladies in the know would look at it and think twice.

Janey: His belt. It would avoid any embarrassment at customs and always serves
as a visible reminder, especially when tapped surreptitiously with his
finger in public.

Ronnie: Depends on where we would be going. It's P who normally chooses what to
take. Generally for a weekend it would be the short OTK cane, easy to
fit in hand luggage and quiet if we are in a hotel. As P says though,
its not the instruments that's noisy, its me:)

Leah: I say it's a good opportunity to get creative with what you already have
or what you'll find when you get there. Belt, hairbrush and hand, of
course. If it's a weekend at the beach, the bottom of the flip flop.
Maybe a travel guide.

Dan: If the trip involves plane travel and security checks, probably a hair
brush or, if more adventurous and willing to risk some knowing looks
from the TSA, a bath brush.

Prefectdt: I think that I would choose my carpet beater. It's fun, relatively quiet
to use, can be hard to find or buy in some locations and I have my
cover story, of going to a carpet cleaners convention, already rehearsed
for if I am stopped and searched at customs.

PK: I think I'd bring the dogging bat. It's small and easy to pack. You can
always say you are a horse enthusiastic if questioned and it's a
wonderful implement for play or serious.

Hermione: As always, I consider my husband's preferences before my own. Ron loves the long wooden shoehorn for the loud sounds it produces as it connects with my bottom. It would be easy to explain if questioned; shoehorns are very useful.

It sounds like your weekend getaways are going to be very entertaining!